


Answers

by catmiint



Series: no place for a hero [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dark Knight Questline, Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Our Answer (Final Fantasy XIV Quest), outside pov, selective mutism, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 05:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14466348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmiint/pseuds/catmiint
Summary: Having the fabled Warrior of Light as a sister wasn't always an easy task, especially when you didn't see her for weeks at a time. The last thing Atlan expected to hear was her mental state was deteriorating and the Temple Knights were detaining her for heresy.or: The Warrior of Light's brother struggles with coming face to face with the events of Dark Knight quest "Our Answer".





	Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the start of Heavensward but doesn't contain spoilers for ARR beyond vague mentions. Heavy spoilers including dialogue directly from the level 50 Dark Knight quest. 
> 
> All OCs mentioned are from my Free Company! Ko'ruri is a half-Raen/half-Xaela Dark Knight (previously Warrior), Atlan is a Xaela Dragoon, Yoyolu is a Lalafell Summoner/Scholar, and Xaun is a Miqo'te Monk.
> 
> Warning for an incredibly brief and vague allusion to suicide.

Atlan sighed as he walked into Camp Dragonhead, exhaustion worn deep into his bones. His dragoon training and other quests and errands had him running all over central Coerthas. Still wasn’t allowed past the Gates of Judgement, but he didn’t care. Nope not at all.

 

He was looking forward to taking the aetheryte back to the Free Company house and collapsing into bed. Gods, he didn’t even know if he’d make it _to_ bed, he might just collapse on a chair by the fireplace like some of the other members were wont to do. It used to be Ko’ruri that was the worst offender, often getting in at odd hours. She rarely even removed her armor or boots before curling up in front of the fire instead of making the rest of the walk to her private quarters. He wasn’t even sure how often she used her bed at the house, it seemed to be shoved in a corner as an afterthought more than anything.

 

The memories plucked at his heart a bit.

 

It had been a few weeks since anyone in the company had seen or heard from their captain. All they knew was she had called Jellybean’s link pearl and said that she was in Isghard and would be until further notice. She had obviously not wanted to be questioned, considering how she hadn’t even contact a member of the company, rather opting to talk to Moto’s younger sister. Even Masya, despite finding herself quite busy with matters in Ala Mhigo, made a point to check in with everyone. She still popped into the house via aethernet from time to time, tired from her travels yet still bright and excited to share the stories.

 

The worry weighed heavy on him. He wished that his half-sister would at least answer his calls so he could hear her voice and know she was okay.

 

Despite his fatigue, Atlan resolved to question Haurchefant while he was in Camp Dragonkeep. He turned and backtracked to where Haurchefant could often be found tending to various business. The door was unlocked, as usual, so Atlan slipped in.

 

Haurchefant looked up from a report he was reading and beamed, “Why if it isn’t my favorite Xaela!”

 

“I thought Ko’ruri was your favorite,” Atlan chuckled as he made his way to where he sat. The jovial elezen stood up and pulled him into a friendly hug, hitting him on the back a few times.

 

“She’s my favorite _half_ Xaela,” he clarified as he pulled away and gestured for Atlan to sit.

 

“Speaking of your favorite half Xaela…” Atlan trailed off with a frown.

 

Haurchefant shot him a look, “What of her?”

 

“You’ve seen Ko’ruri recently, right?” He queried, a hint of worry in his voice, “How is she?”

 

“Oh! Ko’ruri is—“ Haurchefant’s voice faltered, and Atlan watched as he struggled to keep a light expression on his face. His brow furrowed and a hand went to his forehead. He sighed, “She’s not doing well, to put it bluntly.”

 

Atlan bit the inside of his cheek and watched the emotions pass over the elezen’s face. Concern, confusion, _fear_ . Was Haurchefant scared for Ko? Or… of her? What reason would he have to be scared _of_ her? They were such good friends. “Not well?” He pushed for details.

 

“Mentally,” he put bluntly, “I’m not sure if she’s…all there.”

 

“Oh.” A soft noise escaped his lips. The thought of Ko not being “all there” baffled him, feeling distinctly wrong. It was like saying that grass was purple or chocobos weren’t cute.

 

“She’s made herself scarce, but when she is around it’s…” Haurchefant paused as he searched for words, “I’ve seen her behaving very oddly. Sometimes she’ll look or react to things no one else can see. Muttering to herself and jumping at shadows.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like Ko.”

 

His voice warbled, “No, it doesn’t.”

 

Atlan rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled, worry bubbling deep inside as he considered what Haurchefant had shared. He had known that his sister had been off and isolating herself pretty severely, but this was something more. He couldn’t put all the pieces together though, “You don’t know anything else?”

 

“I wish I did. She’s been so much less vibrant lately—started with that quiet spell, longer than the others I’ve seen her go through.”

 

Curiosity pricked at his fingertips, “When was that?”

 

“Shortly before she was taken in as a ward of House Fortemps,” Haurchefant answered simply, his gaze distant as he recalled the memory. “She didn’t say anything for days, hardly even seemed willing to write things down.”

 

“Days?” The shocked recoiled inside him. Her quiet spells were usually never longer than a few hours at a time, or maybe a full day if it was particularly bad. They had always been sporadic and short-lived, just long enough for her brain to catch up and process stimuli. And to think, Atlan had lived unaware of this. His stomach churned as he thought of how he had not been there to help her—the guilt then turning to confusion as he considered how vehemently she had pushed everyone away. “I have so many questions.”

 

“And not enough answers,” Haruchefant mused in response.

 

It was at that moment that the door swung open, a knight from Whitebrim rushing in with heaving breaths. He did not give either a chance to respond before panting out, “I’m so sorry to interrupt sirs, but there’s an emergency.”

 

Haurchefant quickly attempted to compose himself into a lordly state of mind, so to say. His voice was firm, but his face remained troubled. “Emergency? Speak quickly.”

 

“Lord Drillemont heard word from the Temple Knights–the Warrior of Light is wanted for heresy.”  

 

Atlan slammed his hands down on the table and stood up abruptly, his chair screeching as it slid roughly against the stone floor. “Heresy? Are the Temple Knights _daft_?”

 

“Do you know what so-called heresy they’re accusing her of?” Haurchefant questioned, trying to appear calm but his quivering tone betraying him.

 

The knight looked nervously at Atlan, towering over his elezen frame. Atlan was well aware how intimidating looked, but he could not stop his tail from lashing anxiously behind him or his fists from curling into balls.

 

Haurchefant cleared his throat to get the knights attention again, “Tell us, please.”

 

“The Warrior of Light has been, uh, seen talking to a corpse in the Brume,” the knight’s words tumbled out quickly in his anxiety, “on multiple occasions.”

 

Atlan’s blood ran cold. He didn’t know what talking to a dead body meant for Ko’s mental state, just that it couldn’t be good. Anger and fear and worry pressed at his chest, begging for release. He shut his eyes to weather the emotions. It was a lot to process.

 

The knight continued, “She was last heard to be heading to Daniffen Pass and there are knights headed to find her.”

 

“Whitebrim knights or Temple Knights?” Haurchefant glanced at Atlan and they held each other’s gaze for a moment. Sending Temple Knights after her wouldn’t end well on any given day, but if things were as bad as they seemed… Well, that was a troubling thought.

 

“Whitebrim knights—“ Atlan breathed a sigh of relief as the knight spoke—“but there are Temple Knights waiting for her in Whitebrim.”

 

“I’m going,” the words came unbidden, but he did not regret them. He saw Haurchefant begin to nod and move to stand but, but pause. If things were uneasy in this area of Coerthas, he couldn’t leave Camp Dragonhead untended. They both knew that. His voice dropped low, “I’ll bring her back safe, promise.”

 

At this point, Atlan wasn’t sure if he was promising Haurchefant or himself.

 

* * *

 

 

When Atlan arrived in Whitebrim, he quickly found Lord Drillemont pacing in his office. The man’s arms were clasped behind his back and his brow drawn as he appeared lost in thought, paying little mind to the restless Temple Knights nearby. Atlan’s chest grew tight at seeing another so concerned about Ko’ruri. The knowledge that others recognized her brilliance sat well in his chest, albeit there was a heavy shadow on the feeling. The shows of worry and concern from Lords Haurchefant and Drillemont were tied to this nebulous uncertainty hanging around Ko. None of her friends or colleagues seemed to know the details of her hardship, and it seemed to be coming to a head.

 

The thought of his baby half-sister being tried and executed for heresy was _wrong_. She may not be the most holy of people, but she was far from a dragon-blood drinking heretic. There had to be some sort of explanation for her being seen talking to a dead body… right? Atlan knew that Ko’ruri often had a bit too much zeal for a fight, but the leap to heresy seemed odd and foreign. The doubt was creeping in as he watched Lord Drillemont pace and the Temple Knights talk in hushed tones. There was so much he didn’t know, and that uncertainty rattled him.  

 

He was about to bite the bullet and question Lord Drillemont, when he picked up on shouting in the distance. Not just shouting but fearful screams. Pained screams. Then, another of his knights came running, breathless ( _Were all of his knights out of breath?_ Atlan mused). The knight’s helm was missing and blood splattered across his face. The lance that he held was less of a lance and more a broken shaft of wood, but the knight didn’t seem to notice. Wild-eyed, the knight said, “Fighting—in the courtyard. Some one, some _thing_ just appeared.”

 

Atlan and Drillemont were already taking weapons in hand before the knight finished, not wasting time to question the shaken man. Judging by this knight’s bloodied and shocked state, Atlan guessed that every second they wasted asking for details was another second that this…thing was terrorizing the people of Whitebrim. Rushing down the stairs, the yelling grew more distinct. There were men pleading for their lives and the tangled inhuman snarl of some sort of beast.

 

What he had been expecting was a behemoth or other sort of creature come on a rampage from the wilderness.

 

He hadn’t been expecting a man.

 

Or, at least, he thought that it was a man. It was difficult to tell race or gender of this heavily-armored entity. Their hands gripped tight around the worn hilt of a great sword, and the violence that surrounded them was unbelievable. It had scarcely been two minutes since they first heard the yelling, and yet there were injured knights frantically trying to pull up from the ground to _run_ despite their injuries.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Drillemont demanded, pointing the tip of his sword towards the armor-clad figure.

 

They cocked their head towards Drillemont, and Atlan was able to see the glowing red eyes through the slit in their helmet. That gaze troubled him, and he tightened the grip on his lance. One of the Temple Knights tried to take advantage of their momentary distraction, dashing forward with their own lance in hand, but the man parried the blow with his great sword and swung broadly. It arced forward and sliced through the knight’s upper thighs and the deafening scream of pain echoed through the courtyard. He fell the ground, wailing and frantically grasping at where his legs had been hacked off through the middle of the bone.

 

“You will not take us,” they growled out, the tip of their great sword dragging a line into the snow as they advanced on Drillemont and Atlan.

 

“Us?” Drillemont questioned, eyes locked onto the man as they approached, “Do you mean you’re with—“

 

“ _Ko’ruri!_ ” The name ripped from Atlan’s throat as he saw her running through the gates with another Whitebrim knight lagging a bit behind her. Seeing her, finally, was both a relief and a nightmare.

 

Anything else he might have said died in his throat as he took in the state of his half-sister. She looked worn and tired—bags heavy under her eyes and blood, not all of it dried, streaked across her clothing and face. It was the look in her eyes that got him though. Her eyes were crazed like an untamed beast just waiting to snap at anything that got close. On her back she carried a similar great sword to the one the helmed man was wearing, and his stomach dropped. There was no denying to himself the association between his sister and this man. He tried to catch her gaze, but Ko’ruri would not look at him. Or, had she even noticed that he was there?

 

Ko’ruri’s voice was quiet, raspy, and mostly devoid of emotion as she spoke, “Why have you done this, Fray?”

 

“Heh, surrender your weapon,” the man—Fray—derisively sneered as he turned to face Ko’ruri, “After what happened in Ul’dah? They must be mad.”

 

Atlan’s eyes widened. He had not been aware that something _happened_ in Ul’dah. Why had she not told him?

 

Fray’s voice dropped into a gentle, almost affectionate tone, “Pay attention, Ko’ruri. This could be the greatest moment of our life…”

 

He staggered back at hearing the “our” that Fray said—what did it mean? Could it be that… _No_ , he shook the thought away in time to catch how Ko’s eyes narrowed in anger.

 

“That is, if you could stop denying the truth that’s been staring you in the face since the moment we met,” he spoke as his voice twisted into something cruel, “Say my name. Say it. My _real_ name. **_Our_ ** **real name**.”

 

No.

 

It couldn’t be.

 

Atlan could feel his heart racing in his chest, each frantic beat sending blood rushing past his ears. Each beat sending horror through his veins. What this knight—this _Fray—_ was saying would mean that… His gaze darted quickly to glance at the now legless man sobbing in the snow, a chirurgeon frantically attempting to tend his wounds. The violence that surrounded him, the blood in the snow. Was this all _her?_

 

Fray didn’t notice nor care about the crisis that gripped at Atlan, continuing in a sneer “Come now, you _knew_ Fray was dead from the beginning, but you didn’t care! You had a sword and  soul crystal, but what you _wanted_ was a mentor. A mentor with the _gifts_ and the knowledge. A dark knight who could guide you on the path—who you could aspire to become.”

 

He felt sick to his stomach listening to Fray speak. It was as if the knight had stabbed in a dozen times in the gut with a poisoned dagger. That might even be preferable to the confused pain that filled him. The Ko’ruri he knew wouldn’t aspire to be this—this _monster._

 

His sister was a—

 

He refused to complete that thought, closing his eyes briefly to steel himself against the wave of emotion.

 

“A woman who was free to say and do the things you would not. Even now, you continue to deny it. Well, deny me all you want,” Fray gestured at the courtyard around them, filled with petrified knights too scared or injured to move. “You cannot deny what we have done.” The knight’s head snapped to the side sudden, locking eyes with the chirurgeon tending to the most severely wounded knight. Her face paled and a horrified sob slipped past her lips as she bowed her head to escape his gaze.

 

“Have I not been good to you? Have I not given you everything I promised? Did I not help you hear the whispers of our very soul?!”

 

Ko’ruri was standing silently, blankly watching Fray speak. Her face was blank but her posture was curled in, slumped, defeated. Atlan swallowed and made to recompose himself. He would not let this Fray walk all over his little sister. Taking a deep breath, he repositioned his lance in his hands and poised his muscles to jump.

 

“Open your eyes. Look. Do you see now? Do you _see?_ ”

 

With that, Atlan lunged forward and let his lance guide him. It impacted against the man’s armor, slipping between plates and piercing him deep in the abdomen. Fray’s body lurched and collapsed, much more quickly than Atlan would expect. He tugged the lance out and stepped back, brow furrowed as he looked briefly at the body crumpled lifelessly on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he could see distress flash across Ko’s face as she reached out—to him or to Fray?

 

Aether began to pool in front of him, the force clawing at his own life energy as it coalesced in a dark shadow. From the dark aether a figure formed, stepping out into the world clad in heavy, dark armor. Its frame was sleight, a shock of white hair and two elegantly curved horns framing its face.

 

“K-Ko’ruri?” Atlan’s voice scarcely came out as a whisper.

 

This phantom of his sister rolled back her shoulders and sighed wearily. Her posture was self-assured, aggressive, and confident. “Everything up to now has been your story…” She murmured, her voice holding the same cadence and inflection that the real Ko’ruri’s would. She grabbed at the gnarled great sword on her back and her voice rose to a crescendo, “And everything after now will be **_mine_ **!”

 

Ko’ruri, the real one, appeared pensive and resigned as she drew her own sword. He could not settle on an emotion, all of them clouding his thoughts. It was almost like he was paralyzed as he watched Fray leap forward, her blow sending Ko’ruri off balance. She staggered but was slow to respond as if she were simply awaiting her own defeat. At her hesitation, Fray hit her with the flat of her blade and Ko’ruri was sent tumbling to the ground. She rolled a few times before coming to a stop, her weapon fallen from her hands and was inches out of reach. She didn’t move to get up or grab her sword.

 

It looked like she had given up.

 

He wasn’t the only one to notice, as Drillemont called out to her, “Fight, damn you! Fight!”

 

Atlan wanted to step forward, to help, but something troubled him and bade his muscles still. This couldn’t be happening…

 

Ko’ruri stirred at Drillemont’s words, and when she looked up he could see that the impact had chipped off one of the small horns on her head, blood matting in her hair and trickling down her face. She reached out her hand and gripped at the hilt of her great sword, slowly pushing herself to her knees and then to a defensive stance.

 

She remained silent, her face smooth but troubled.

 

Atlan called out to her, pleading, begging for her to fight for herself, “Ko, _please_!”

 

It seemed like she finally registered his presence as she turned and looked at him, her lips parting in surprise. The fact that she only now registered that he was here troubled him. Something in her gaze hardened, and he saw her grip her sword tighter. Seeing Ko focus in on a fight had always been interesting, but seeing her do that now was worrying. Not just because of this whole Fray thing, but because of how startlingly different it was now. Her axe traded for a sword larger than her and magic gathering around it, pouring out from herself and being pulled from the ambient aether. She had never been one for magic before. But now, he watched her eyes flutter close and felt how she called to the aether, brought it inside her, and then turned it outwards now darkened into a heavy black magic.

 

The dark aether swirled around her like a shield as she leapt into battle with Fray, swinging her great sword as if it weighed nothing. She reached out one hand and a bolt of purple energy struck against her phantom self’s chest plate. Before a second spell hit her, Fray wove magic into a barrier which it dissipated against harmlessly. She then closed the gap with a lunge that would make any dragoon proud. Fray parried the blow, metal meeting metal in a resounding noise.

 

Fray jeered as she began weaving magic around her sword, “Oh, look! You're doing it again! Bravo, Ko’ruri, bravo! You can't really kill me, you know. Oh, you'll _try._ But you'll fail. You may as well put the blade at your own neck.” She swiped her sword dangerously close to Ko’ruri’s neck who barely managed to step of the way. “But where would that leave us, hmmm?”

 

Atlan met Drillemont’s eyes and they both nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. This may be Ko’ruri’s fight, but she did not have to fight it alone.

 

Drillemont stepped into the fight, swinging his sword as he yelled, “Pull yourself together, Ko’ruri! You are stronger than this!”

 

Fray ducked under the swing, scowling like the real Ko’ruri might, “Friends? Really? This is a _private_ affair, and you know it.” Atlan’s resolve hardened and he brandished his lance once again, jumping in to strike a blow at this shadow. She traded with him, her voice tight, “But carry on pretending otherwise, if it please.”

 

“I won’t let you you hurt her!” Atlan growled out.

 

“Heh, things are certainly coming to a head, aren't they!?” Fray’s eyes were wide and wild, a sickening grin spreading across her face as she spoke. She seemed _delighted_ and seeing this expression on his sister’s face was so _wrong._  

 

A noise of anger passed his lips as he leapt back to avoid a swing of the phantom’s heavy sword. One hand left the hilt of her sword to call out to the aether around, curling tendrils of magic around elemental sprites hanging in the area. With a flash of light, she summoned forward twisted and darkened sprites, surrounding Drillemont and Atlan. Another gesture brought the magic coalescing into a brilliant orb of red energy above her head, then she pointed it towards where they stood. The ground they stood on grew warm and the smell of sulfur filled Atlan’s nose. He repositioned his lance in his hands and began to jump again, only to feel pain lace up through his legs as he attempted to step out of the red circle marked in the ground. _Damned dark magic_ , he thought coldly.

 

Fray then turned her attention back on Ko’ruri like a cat cornering a songbird. She slunk forward, sword tip dragging against the ground as she hummed. The wind was whipping at this Ko’ruri’s white locks, and a memory flashed through his mind unbidden of a young, bare-footed girl finding him on the windy steppes for the first time.

 

Ko’ruri, his sister and not the phantom beast, wavered, and Atlan saw the magic surrounding her flicker out for a moment. Fear filled him, she couldn’t give up.

 

That onze of fear quickly dispersed, however, as he felt her tug more at the ambient aether of the air and draw it to her. She wrapped it around herself like a shield, forming a wall that was briefly visible before it faded out of physical sight. Fray struck first, the blow seeming to cut deep into her forearm as she failed to step out of the way, but Atlan saw tendrils of magic boiling up from where the blade tried to cut her skin and leaving only a slit in her dress sleeve.

 

His attention was snapped back to the fight at hand when electricity crackled over his armor and jolted him painfully, reminding him of the sprites that circled him and Drillemont. He wanted to, needed to help Ko’ruri, not deal with damned sprites. He gathered magical fire around the tip of his lance and moved forward in a Dragonfire Dive to pierce the core of one, the fire splashing against the ground and hitting the other sprites nearby.

 

A fight with a handful of sprites would be no problem on a regular day. But this was no regular day and these were no regular sprites. His gaze and mind kept drifting back to where Ko’ruri traded blows with—well—herself, only for one of the darkened sprites to take advantage of the distraction and slip past his defenses. Their aether-charged attacks felt different than normal, and Atlan silently mourned the corruption of these elemental beings.

 

Past the Salted Earth barrier, he could hear Fray laugh, “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look? Flailing about like a wild beast in a battle against yourself!? A house divided cannot stand, Ko’ruri!”

 

Drillemont swiped his sword through the last of the shadow sprites, and looked to Atlan with a questioning look. This barrier was still an issue, he thought worriedly as he looked back over at where Ko’ruri was fighting for her life. She hit a heavy blow square on Fray’s chest plate, and the magic cracked around them. The red, sulfuric energy slipping out of existence with a hiss like steam.

 

“Ko!” Atlan cried, leaping forward with a push of his tired legs. His lance was aimed to slip through the protected back of Fray’s neck, but something snapped inside him and he fell off course, instead hitting the ground solidly. He…He couldn’t hurt his sister. Not even this wrong, twisted mirror image of her. The thought of—of taking that final blow on something that wore her face?

 

A scream ripped from Ko’ruri’s throat, “Atlan!” Angered, she lashed out, putting all of her might into a swing that impacted against Fray’s sword, ripping it out of her hands and sending it flying feet away where it clattered to the ground. On the back swing, she hit Fray against the side of her head with the flat of the blade. A cry ripped from the phantom’s throat and she collapsed to a knee, panting and heaving.

 

Her voice was thick with emotion, “It would seem I underestimated myself…But no matter,” The phantom Ko’ruri didn’t look up as she spoke, “they have borne witness to the darkness within us… To what lies beneath the mask…”

 

Ko’ruri blinked her eyes shut as shamed washed over her face. Atlan’s heart wrenched as he saw her eyes glistening with tears when she opened them.

 

“Ko’ruri! Ko’ruri! Listen to us!”

 

_Was that… Yoyolu’s voice?_

 

Atlan looked up, towards the gate that lead to Camp Dragonhead, to see Yoyolu and Xaun. They had the fresh aetheric whisper of having just teleported through the aetheryte. They both appeared a big alarmed at seeing a second image of their captain, but Yoyolu’s eyes remained bright and pleading.

 

Her voice was soft but impassioned, “We will never forsake you! No matter what!”

 

“We know who you are, Ko’ruri,” Xaun spoke with a  flick of his ear, “We know─and so do _you_. You know who you are.”

 

Some of the knight of Whitebrim murmured their agreement, injured and scared but genuine in their affirmations. Atlan looked back towards where Ko’ruri and Fray were to see the tender and shocked expression that had spread across his sister’s features. Her eyes slid over to Atlan’s, and they locked gazes. For a few moments they just looked at each other, so many unspoken words and feelings passing between. He watched her as she blinked into a soft, plaintive smile. Ko’ruri bowed her head for a moment and appeared to be listening to the voices of her friends and allies.

 

Fray spoke up again, voice warbling and cracked, “A fantastic display of willful ignorance.”

 

 _No_ , Atlan thought firmly, _they were not ignorant._ Ko’ruri was dear and important to them all—a shield, a mentor, a friend.

 

“Wipe the slate clean,” Fray laughed brokenly, “Forgive and forget! Convince yourselves that she can be controlled…”

 

Ko’ruri’s head was tilted in a way that her hair shielded her expression like a curtain as Fray spoke.

 

“The Warrior of Light! Our _Weapon_ of Light” Fray shook her head bitterly “It isn’t too late, Ko’ruri. We—we can still be free…”

 

Is that what she thought? The thought weighed heavy on Atlan as he watched Ko’ruri step forward to the defeated phantom. Did Ko’ruri see herself as little more than a weapon to be used and pointed? Hearing these words struck deep at him, and he wondered how he had let himself be blind to such things. The way that Fray—that this part of Ko’ruri—had said that… She just wanted to be free, didn’t she?

 

Ko’ruri approached Fray silently, and the phantom stood up—her face drawn and tears sliding down her cheeks. It was disconcerting to see his sister cry, even if it was not her but rather this mirror image. “Ko’ruri?” Fray asked, voice weak on the word. Without saying anything, his sister reached out a hand towards her. A lingering gesture that seemed to be familiar to both, judging by the way Fray ducked her head to the side and murmured, “So, this is your answer.”

 

The courtyard was still as the phantom spoke, looking back up to Ko’ruri with a tearful and longing expression, “Listen to my voice. Listen to our heartbeat. Listen…”

 

There was no anger on Ko’ruri’s face as she smiled at herself and nodded. _Catharsis…_ Atlan mused.

 

Fray reached out her opposite hand, a similar smile pulling up her lips, and a ball of light began forming between where they held their palms up. It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist to them.

 

Fray’s voice was nearly loving, “If this is how it must be, then so be it. But know that when you tire of this charade, I shall be here… waiting to take the reins…” She tilted her head up to look at the sky, ”You need only ask.”

 

Then the ball of light flared, causing Atlan to shield his eyes with a hand for a moment. When the brilliant light dissipated, only Ko’ruri stood there in front of a cloud of black and purple energy. It appeared less like the angry, vengeful darkness that had been hanging around the courtyard and more like the calm image of a galaxy. Bright blue flecks of aether twinkled like stars as the roiling shadows reached up towards the sky and faded.

 

Ko’ruri’s hand fell back towards her side and her eyes shut, contemplative.

 

Atlan went to her, and could see Yoyolu approaching her as well. He hesitated, not sure how she’d respond to affection or physical contact after what had occurred, but Yoyolu didn’t pause as she reached on her tip toes and hugged her waist.

 

“We only caught the end of the fight, but we thought that we’d lose you,” Yoyolu’s voice was muffled by the fabric of Ko’ruri’s dress, but Atlan could hear how it was tight with emotion.

 

But, where was Xaun? His eyes scanned the courtyard, and he was surprised to find him talking to Drillemont. Their heads were bowed together, voices too low for even Atlan’s sensitive horns to pick up on. After a few seconds, Drillemont nodded and moved away, gathering his knights with a gesture. He began to speak to them, as Xaun slunk back to where Atlan was standing.

 

“What was—“ Atlan began to ask, only to be cut off by Xaun.

 

“Ser Drillemont’s agreed that he’ll make it clear to his knights and to the Temple Knights that no one will speak of what happened.” His tail lashed behind him, betraying his smooth expression, “Not that I even had to ask… People care a great deal about our Ko’ruri—I find it baffling to realize that she had not been certain of that.”

 

Atlan bit his lip, a fang drawing a drop of blood, “How did you know to come? How much did you see?”

 

“Always questions with you,” Xaun chuckled trying to reach a semblance of normalcy in the conversation, “Haurchefant contacted me through my link pearl, said that Ko’ruri had gotten into some sort of trouble in Whitebrim. We got here just in time to see that, uh, dark version of Ko’ruri smack her across the courtyard,” his voice dropped low, “When she didn’t get up, Yoyolu had thought she was dead. It gave her—It gave us quite the scare.”

 

Atlan rubbed a hand across his forehead and sighed, his muscles fatigued from worry and the fight and his busy day before all of this. He was simultaneously grateful for and incredibly concerned about Xaun and Yoyolu’s appearance. Ko’ruri needed to share these things and work through the knotted up pain inside, but she was so walled off and sensitive. He feared that being exposed to so many people would to nothing but make her close off even more.

 

“Listen, Atlan,” Xaun began, cocking his head to the side, “I don’t know what all happened here. I mean, I’m pretty confused, but Ko needs our help… As much as she’ll want to just shut us out, we can’t let her.”

 

Atlan nodded and looked back to where Ko’ruri was awkwardly trying to extricate herself from Yoyolu’s vice grip of a hug. More than anything else, she looked tired—both physically and mentally. Her movements were slow and heavy with fatigue, and her expression was weary.

 

The approach of one of Drillemont’s knights was enough for Ko’ruri to pull herself from Yoyolu’s hug and brush herself off. She looked to the knight expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Atlan had to admit it was a bit unnerving how Ko would often not speak first, especially around those she didn’t know, instead just watching them with rapt attention until they said their piece.

 

“I, uh, I do not now what I witnessed, nor am I sure I wish to know but…” The knight’s words came quickly, almost tumbling together in his anxiety, “Praise Halone you’re all right, though. Lord Drillemont wanted you to know that your, uh, your friend—“ he couldn’t prevent the fearful glance towards where the armor-clad body of Fray laid, still where Atlan had felled him, “that your friend will be interred with full rights. May his soul finally find peace…”

 

Ko’ruri nodded stoically, her face giving no hints to the turmoil inside.

 

“Are you certain you’re all right, madam? You seem a little…” The knight trailed off, “Never mind, fare you well.” Then, he bowed his head respectfully and rushed away without looking back.

 

Atlan had so many questions that just kept piling on. The conflicted emotions clawed at him—worry, guilt, fear, _more guilt._ He kept going back to the thought that had crossed his mind, the thought that he had that Ko’ruri—his dear baby sister—was a monster. Why would he think that? It wasn’t like him to jump to these snap judgments. Hearing Fray speak had been a startling insight into her mind and into the _fear_ that seemed to consume her thoughts. He had not realized before that she was so preoccupied with how others perceived her or how troubled she was by her own actions and thoughts.

 

She had internalized these things so heavily that something, some dark influence was able to take root. It had gotten so bad that these thoughts were given aetheric form—a part of her personality, ignored yet powerful and longing for release.

 

 _Weapon of Light_ … Those words came back to the forefront of his mind. Those words were the ones that sat uneasily. Ko’ruri had always given freely, sacrificing much for the sake of protecting others. At what point had she gone from gentle protector to a weapon that other people used? She never questioned when others asked things of her from the smallest fetch quest to the most intense primal fight. Somewhere along the line, Atlan realized that the Scions and the Grand Companies had stopped seeing _Ko’ruri_ and started seeing a weapon.

 

Xaun touched his elbow, jerking him out of the sea of his thoughts, and gestured for him to move forward. _Oh_ , he realized that Ko’ruri kept shooting anxious, shamed glances in his direction. She was probably fearing his reaction to all of this.

 

“C’mere Ko,” Atlan murmured and reached out to her. She closed the gap and practically flung herself into his arms. Her frame was so petite compared to his, feeling almost fragile in this moment.

 

“Atlan, I—I’m so sorry,” she choked out, her voice quavering.

 

He rubbed circles into her back, trying to soothe her, “What are you sorry about?”

 

Ko’ruri was quiet for a moment, her body trembling with the effort to keep it together. Suddenly her shoulders began to heave in violent sobs, and she shuddered against his chest, “I’m a _monster.”_

 

Guilt swept through Atlan, and he squeezed her tighter to his chest. Not once had he ever seen Ko’ruri cry. She was impossibly strong, able to deftly control how she came off to others. If his sister ever cried, it was likely where no one could see. But now she was breaking down in his arms, her self control slipping far from her reach. He felt his own tears prick at the corner of his eyes, “No, you’re not. Ko, we love you. You aren’t a monster.” His reassurances were simple and awkward, as he struggled to find words. What do you tell someone after what just happened? “It’s all going to be okay.”

 

“ _No_ ,” the word came out as nearly a growl which caused her to break into stuttering sobs again, “It’s not okay! Now you know how disgusting and _fucked up_ I am.”

 

“No, you’re not!” Yoyolu attempted to stifle tears of her own and spoke through her sniffles, “Ko, you have to believe us.”

 

“I’d like to think I know you pretty well, Ko’ruri,” Xaun spoke, “and this image you have of yourself isn’t real. Do you remember when we first met?”

 

Ko’ruri shifted her head so that her cheek was pressed against Atlan’s abdomen and she could look at Xaun, eyes brimming with tears.

 

Taking that as her response, Xaun continued, “When we first met I made the mistake of picking a fight with the most badass person in Camp Dragonhead. And after you beat me thoroughly, you didn’t gloat or mock me like the average man might. You offered me a place in the Free Company—a _home_. Hell, you even said you were excited for the day that I won a spar.”

 

Ko’ruri sniffled, slowly coming down from the crying fit, “I didn’t beat you that thoroughly, you got a few good punches in.”

 

Xaun ruffled her hair and smiled at her fondly, “Take better care of yourself, I still got a spar to win.”

 

She nodded then turned her face back into Atlan’s stomach, leaning on him for comfort. it was not often she let herself be this vulnerable, and Atlan held her almost reverently. After a few moments, he spoke in a low and rumbling, almost purr-like tone, “We should get you home. It’s been a long day.”

 

“‘m tired, though,” she grumbled, shaking her head.

 

“If you’re tired, then I’ll carry you,” he declared and lifted her small form off the ground. She was all but slung over his shoulder like a reluctant cat, squirming in protest . “Come on now, we gotta get to the aetheryte in Camp Dragonhead.”

 

Yoyolu wiped the wetness away from her cheeks and nearly beamed at the sight of Ko’ruri being carry like a particularly grumpy kitty. “Aww, that’s so cute,” she cooed at them.

 

Ko’ruri grumbled something under her breath that Atlan couldn’t make out, but he chuckled and patted Yoyolu on the head.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Xaun entered from the kitchen with a pot of steaming tea that Atlan vaguely recognized as the pot that Ko’ruri had made out of mythrite. _“It’s such a pretty blue metal,”_ he remembered her telling him as she delicately set star sapphire in the handle. A bolt of fondness passed through him at the memory—she put such care into the things she created.

 

The miqo’te poured four cups of tea before sitting down at the table, settling in with his legs crossed under him. For Atlan, the chairs at the dining room table were a bit small but he knew that most of the company were shorter folk—all the others miqo’te and lalafell with Ko’ruri and himself being the exceptions.

 

Ko’ruri, sitting at the head of the table with Yoyolu to one side and himself to the other, was staring silently at her cup of tea. She drummed her fingers over the side of the cup, appearing pensive with her shoulders slumped forward as if physically closing herself off. The silence hung heavy in the air and, unwilling to break it, Atlan simply sipped at his tea and watched the others.

 

Yoyolu—gods bless her—was the first to speak, “Who was that, Ko?”

 

Her grip on the teacup tightened, and she hissed as some of the tea splashed over the rim onto her hand. Atlan could _see_ her shutting them out as her expression tightened and she asked defensively, “Does it matter?” Yoyolu recoiled a bit, which got a regretful sigh from his sister. “I—I’m sorry, just… tense.”

 

“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Atlan cleared his throat and tried to pull Ko’ruri out of the pit of her thoughts.

 

“The beginning…” She trailed off, her gaze distant. “My memories are of Fray are muddled. I don’t know where I end and he—she begins. Was the beginning when I found his soul crystal? When we first communed? When I started losing myself in him?”

 

She sounded distressed and confused, and Atlan’s heart ached for her.

 

Yoyolu made a soft, sad noise and Xaun cleared his throat before speaking, “Why don’t you start with finding this soul crystal?”

 

“I… I was walking through Ishgard when I overhead gossip. Something about a heretic being executed through trial by combat. I got curious,” Ko’ruri’s head bowed, “Damn that curiosity… One man spoke of this knight who fought like he was possessed—fighting despite mortal wounds, his body twisted by some dark energy. The Temple Knights had no respect for heretics, they just dumped the body in the Brume. I wanted to see this so-called ‘demon’ for myself. Maybe give him a proper burial.”

 

“So this Fray, he _did_ die?” Atlan questioned, brow furrowed.

 

Ko nodded, “He was. When I got there, I saw a crystal and reached out for it. The everything got… hazy.”

 

“Hazy?” Yoyolu echoed curiously.

 

“It was like my sense of reality warped… Fray was standing in front of me, and I didn’t question it. Instead, I took his sword and his words to heart. After everything that happened, I needed _something_. He told me that the path of the Dark Knight was a freedom,” Ko looked up and he saw the longing look in her eyes, “The freedom to follow my heart. To defend the weak. To punish the guilty.”

 

“That doesn’t sound particularly heretical,” Xaun commented, setting his teacup down on its plate with a soft _clink_.

 

“I didn’t think so either,” she murmured with a shake of the head, “It was _exhilarating_ to finally discard people’s expectations and just do what I thought was right. All of these dark emotions became a fuel for something, and I felt like I had purpose again.” The next part she spoke in a whisper, “I didn’t want to be used anymore.”

 

Yoyolu reached out and rested her hand on Ko’ruri’s, a maternal and caring gesture. Ko didn’t smile but appeared comforted nonetheless.

 

“You mentioned something of communion?”

 

She nodded again, “When I first touched the crystal I…heard a voice. Fray told me that ‘communion’ would help me hear the voice more clearly. It was a balancing act of sorts. I had to nurture this darkness to better use it in battle, but too much would kill me.”

 

Atlan couldn’t help but growl a bit at that, which caused Ko’ruri to attempt to smile appeasingly at him. It fell flat.

 

“Or worse, Fray said,” her gaze darkened, “I think I found out what worse is.”  

 

Fray’s phantom Ko’ruri voice echoed through his head, _“Everything up to now has been your story...And everything after now will be mine!”_ To be taken over by her own darkness would truly be a fate worse than death to Ko’ruri.

 

Ko’ruri took a sip of her tea, nervously, before continuing, “This communion needed to be prepared through battle. It started slow, as I felt reluctant to give in, but…”

 

“But?” Xaun prompted.

 

“But I quickly felt myself slipping,” she sighed and put the cup down. With a shake of her head, she continued, “That’s later though. The communions were frustrating at first, I couldn’t make sense of what the voice was telling me. A wanderer’s voice singing a desperate song… Looking back I see how that was me, in a way, a part that I had pushed deep down.

 

“Every time I met with Fray, things seemed to get worse. Fray grew more and more unhinged, and I found myself struggling to cope. He—er, rather I think it was me? I’m still not sure on things I did and things Fray did— _we_ started to scare people. And the communions grew more worrying.” Ko’ruri’s gaze was distant and she whispered the next part absent-mindedly, perhaps not realizing she was saying it at all, “ _Serve, save, slave, slay._ ”

 

A shudder went down Atlan’s spine as he heard the haunted edge to her voice. He exchanged glances with Xaun and Yoyolu and could see the concern written on their faces as well. With everything they heard, the more they worried.

 

She didn’t seem to notice the pause and tilted her head as she mused, “The last communion is where things went wrong, really. Fray was questioning me and my commitment, swearing that he was trying to help me. Called me stubborn. Before our last communion, we got caught up in helping some merchant recover his merchandise. Fray… encouraged me to just push past my limits and let the chaos reign.

 

“I don’t remember the fight, it’s a blank spot in my memory. I just came to afterwards covered in blood and surrounded by, uh, chopped up qiqirins.”

 

“Qiqirins are so cute though,” Yoyolu frowned into her tea.

 

Ko’ruri shruged self-consciously, “Point is, I delivered the merchandise back to this merchant only for him to complain because I kinda ruined it with all the blood.”

 

“Yeah, that’ll ruin something,” Atlan pointed out sarcastically.

 

“Fray started freaking out at the merchant—or, I thought it was Fray. but suddenly I realized that the things Fray was saying were _my_ words and _my_ feelings. I said horrible things and scared them half to death. But,  it made me feel good to speak my mind and… that last communion was frighteningly real.”

 

Atlan, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her comfortingly, “You can tell us what it said, if that’ll help.”

 

“The voice, it…” her voice trailed off and she bit her lip, eyes shining with tears again, “I think that’s when I subconsciously realized that none of this was real and that this voice was just myself. I didn’t actually acknowledge it but, somewhere I knew. ‘ _A chorus of voices cries out for a hero, and she comes. She smiles. She nods. And she remains silent. But she too has a voice… I will be heard_.’ That’s what it said, and then Fray offered a chance to get away from it all.”

 

Xaun’s ears pinned back at that, “Get away? Like leaving Eorzea or…” He left the question hanging.

 

“No, just that we could run away to somewhere where we were not this hero—somewhere we could forget about the Scions and the Alliance and even Hydaelyn,” Ko’ruri looked back down at her cup and gripped it tightly, “Earlier today I was… going to take Fray up on her offer—”Atlan was deeply troubled at the knowledge that his sister had meant to _leave._ Had she even meant to tell anyone? Or did she just plan to leave them all to worry and mourn without closure? “—We were just about to depart from Coerthas when a Whitebrim night found us and asked for assistance. Then, after that—well, you know the rest of the story.”

 

“Fray was you,” Atlan softly said.

 

Ko’ruri nodded without speaking.

 

Xaun appeared deep in thought, considering all they had learned as he poured himself another cup of tea. “It’s out there now,” he commented quietly, “And that’s good—you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide anything from us.”

 

“Xaun’s right, Ko!” Yoyolu brightened, “We all care about you a lot and you had us worried by ignoring our calls and not visiting!”

 

“I know you feel like you have to shoulder all your burdens alone, Ko, but we’re here for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Ko’ruri’s voice came out as soft as a whisper, twisted with emotion, “you’ve all been so good to me, even when I feel like I don’t deserve it.”

 

The night faded into more talking and more hot tea, the mood slowly warming up as the trauma of the day seemed to settle. They had no doubt that this would haunt their captain for a long time, but it was something to be taken a day at a time. Healing was a bumpy road, but one that they were determined to take with his sister. For now, all that mattered was that the tension drained from Ko’ruri’s shoulder and the haunted darkness left her eyes. If only for now.

 

As the night continued, a thought kept circling his mind—A memory from when she had left the tribe in the steppes for Eorzea. She had told him the night before her morning departure, citing that she didn’t want to give him time to try to convince her otherwise. _“I know people here can’t look at me without seeing the Raen part of me, seeing my mother. I need somewhere free from expectation,”_ Ko had said, “ _I have to find myself.”_

 

And did she?

 

Did Ko’ruri find herself?

  
  



End file.
